A Revolutionary's Resolve
by Singerdiva01
Summary: "Tory gasped when she saw the former president lying on the ground curled into a ball, unmoving." Set on New Caprica during the Cylon occupation, a take on what happened to Laura Roslin in detention. Spoilers for Exodus.


Tory Foster lay awake, looking at the makeshift ceiling of her former boss' tent. She'd come to keep watch 5 days prior, after the Cylons once again came and ordered the former president from her classroom. After Laura Roslin's previous two stints in detention, the machines had dropped her off unceremoniously at her tent in the middle of the night. Something like a Cylon shuttle, Tory thought, without humor.

They'd first come for her three weeks ago. A Four and a Two model banged through the flap of the school's tent without warning, searching menacingly for the woman the students knew only as Ms. Roslin. She was kneeling beside a young boy, helping him with a math problem, but immediately stood and walked toward the intruders.

Tory had moved to get between her mentor and the Cylons but Laura stopped her with a motion of her hand. She faced them calmly and spoke in a quiet voice.

"I assume you are looking for me?"

The Four nodded and raised both hands to grab the smaller woman's shoulders. Laura raised both of her hands in a motion of surrender and spoke, still keeping her voice low. "I'll come with you. Please, don't scare the children." Without waiting for a response, she turned her head slightly and spoke in Tory's direction, loud enough for the students to hear. "Ms. Foster, please finish the math lesson for today. I have to step out for a bit."

With that, she'd walked serenely past her captors and out the flap.

She was returned to her tent one night later, shaken but relatively unharmed save bruises in the shapes of fingers on her upper arms caused by being thrown roughly from the shuttle into her cell and then back again. She relayed to Tory and later to Colonel Tigh how Cavil demanded the names of resistance leaders, accused her of plotting to overthrow Baltar, and ordered her to disclose Galactica's whereabouts. She'd heard the screams of other prisoners being tortured but her refusals and denials were, surprisingly, not met with violence.

She tried to ease the fears of the other resistance leaders by relaying a conversation she'd overheard between Cavil and Doral in which the older machine ordered the younger one not to harm the former president and to return her quickly to the outside lest they further incite the rebellion. Chief Tyrol wanted to post guards around her but she refused, fearing that doing so would endanger the men assigned to the task. She returned to the school the following morning, cheerful and reassuring as always.

The second time they came was early in the dark of the early morning, dragging her roughly from bed. When she didn't arrive at school, Tory got worried and went to her tent where neighbors told her that they'd seen the former president being taken away. Tory had stayed in Roslin's tent for three nights before the truck came back. As Tory heard the squeal of tires, Laura opened the flap and stumbled inside, reaching for a chair to steady herself. This time, they had tried sleep deprivation to get answers to the same questions, to no avail. Doral had evidently lost his temper on the second day and slammed the back of her head against the wall, causing her to pass out.

Dr. Cottle came and concluded that she had a mild concussion but the cause of her unsteadiness was the exhaustion. Although she protested that she didn't need it, he gave her a strong sedative and she slept late into the afternoon the next day. The day after that she was once again back in her classroom and that same night she led the resistance meeting, waving away discussion about her detention and ordering the men to stay focused on planning for the day Galactica returned and they would be able to evacuate the civilians.

Tory recalled how calm Laura had been through all of this, reassuring everyone who expressed concern that the Cylons were trying to send a message with the detentions but weren't stupid enough to harm her. She and they knew that along with being an organizer in the resistance, she was the symbol of hope. If she showed fear, if she told anyone but Tory about the bruises and the bump hidden underneath her red hair, it could jeopardize both the resolve and the mission of the rebellion.

The third time had been at the school again. This time, however, the Cylons were not content not to make a scene. The suicide bombing at the police academy had shaken the machines and all pretense of their presence as allies rather than occupiers had fallen away. Centurians patrolled the streets and a curfew was issued in an attempt to keep the resistance leaders from meeting to plan further destruction. A Doral model, accompanied by a Centurion, had rushed into the school tent and grabbed Laura, who had her back to them, by her hair, causing her to fall on her back to the ground. The children screamed and some started to cry as he dragged her outside. The leader never made a sound, clenching her eyes shut so that none of the room's panicked occupants could see either fear or pain in them.

That event, unlike the others, caused a widespread panic amongst not just the resistance but the populace of New Caprica as a whole. Even those who'd voted for Baltar now realized their mistake - Tory had seen the proof when walking with Laura through the streets as citizens nodded at her with respect, many calling her, quietly, 'Madam President.' As news of her detention spread and the days went on, there was an uptick in violence against the skinjobs and a homemade bomb had been discovered outside of Colonial One before it could go off. The members of the resistance were torn between mounting a rescue mission or focusing all their attention on causing as much destruction to the Cylon infrastructure as possible. Tory worried for her boss and worried that her continued detention was having its intended effect of focusing the rebellion's attention away from their plan to wait until they knew the Galactica was coming and when before turning to all out destruction.

Tory sat up quickly as she heard the truck pull up outside, a door slam, and something heavy be thrown in front of the tent. She waited, heart racing, until she heard another door slam and the squeal of tires, and rushed outside. She gasped when she saw the former president lying on the ground curled into a ball, unmoving.

She kneeled next to her, gently turning her just enough so she could see the older woman's face. Laura's eyes fluttered open, but almost immediately clenched shut in pain.

"Oh my Gods, Madam President." Tory's eyes darted around the shadows on the street, terrified of being seen by friend or foe and unsure of how she was going to get the injured woman into the safety of the tent.

"Tory," the former president breathed softly. "It's ok. Just help me inside." She tried to leverage her weight on Tory's slight frame to stand but failed as a sharp pain shot through her body. She turned her face into Tory's denim jacket to muffle her cry.

As if in an answer to the prayers Tory was silently reciting in her head, Chief Tyrol appeared from the shadows by Laura's tent and scooped her into his arms in one graceful move, motioning for Tory to open the flap. Once inside, he laid her down on the pile of blankets that served as her bed. Both of the young attendants knelt beside her, one on each side.

Laura looked up at Tory and then at Tyrol and tried to smile. "My heroes. Thank you."

Tory spoke first. "Madam President, how badly are you hurt? Where are you hurt?" Her boss had placed her arm protectively across her abdomen and seemed to wince with every breath but, outwardly, she appeared uninjured. A dark look crossed Tyrol's face as he realized they'd moved from not hurting the resistance leader to hurting her, probably badly, in a way no one could see.

Laura looked up at the two concerned faces. "I'm ok. My ribs are a little sore. I'm tired. Just let me sleep for a bit, I'll be alright."

Tyrol shook his head. "Hell no. I'm going to get Cottle." He took a gun from his jeans and handed it to Tory, who looked at it in horror before taking it gingerly. "Stay with her. If anyone comes in this tent that isn't me or Cottle or Tigh, shoot them." He didn't wait for a response but turned and left.

The injured former president looked at the gun in Tory's hand and shot her a sharp look. It was enough to make Tory put it down on the floor by her side, out of Laura's view but close enough to grab in case she needed to follow the Chief's instructions.

Laura spoke again, with effort. "Tory, you and Cottle and Tyrol shouldn't be here. It looks like collusion and none of you can be taken away. Not now. Please, go. I'll be fine."

Tory gave her an exasperated look but reached down to find the woman's hand and intertwined their fingers. "I'm not going anywhere. Try to relax, Cottle will be here soon and nothing else is going to happen." I hope, she added silently.

Laura sighed but closed her eyes, resigned. Tory noted that Laura's hand was cold in hers and released it to grab a blanket, which she clumsily draped over Laura's legs and stomach. She could tell from her friend's incomprehension of her injuries that she was in shock and she prayed for Tyrol to hurry.

At least ten more agonizing minutes passed before Dr. Cottle pulled back the flaps to the tent and let himself be ushered inside by Tyrol, who quickly closed it behind him. As the doctor paused to let his eyes adjust to the dim light the Chief shot Tory a meaningful look and disappeared outside again, obviously sharing Laura's concern about too many resistance members being in one tent at the same time.

The doctor crossed the room and knelt down across from Tory near Laura's head. Her eyes were closed and she hadn't stirred at his entry. Tory shot the doctor a worried look, unsure if the former president had fallen asleep or passed out.

"Madam President?" Jack Cottle's voice was more gentle than she, or even he, had ever heard it.

She slowly opened her eyes to glare at the doctor. "I'm not the president. Would everyone quit calling me that?"

The older man allowed himself a small smile. "Alright but you're still you, young lady, stubborn as ever. Let me see what they've done to you."

She waved her hand dismissively but made no move to object when he moved the blanket to the side and gently lifted up her sweater. As he did, he gasped.

The majority of her stomach was bruised a deep purple and he could tell just by looking that several of her ribs had been broken. The bruise started just below her breasts and extended below the waist of her trousers and he winced as he imagined how those injuries were inflicted.

"Oh, Gods, Laura," he breathed.

She responded without opening her eyes. "I'm alright, Jack. Please, just patch me up and give me something to get me on my feet. There's a meeting tonight and I've got to be there." She looked at Tory, who nodded her confirmation but quickly looked back at the doctor, who was now glaring down at Laura.

"No. This is far too bad for you to go waltzing around playing revolutionary. This bruise is concerning. What the hell did this?"

She bristled visibly at his words but her voice was softer now, more vulnerable. "A boot. I think they're getting more frustrated by my lack of cooperation." She tried to laugh but winced as pain shot through her ribs.

"Laura, have you coughed up or thrown up any blood?" When she shook her head, he felt her stomach gently. He sighed in relief when the examination found it to be soft, rather than hard and signaling the onset of internal bleeding.

His patient was not amused. "That hurts. Either do something for me or get out. You know I'm going no matter what you say." Laura's voice was hard but her eyes were pleading as they met his.

He sighed. "Yeah, you may not be the president but you can still give orders, can't you?" He hated it but he knew that she was right. The mood in the settlement was growing dangerous and he'd gotten an earful from Tyrol on the way to her tent about the rising impatience of the resistance. Only she could restore some semblance of order and, he knew, she'd do it even if it killed her.

"Ok. You're not gonna be spared at least hearing my good sense, although you've never taken it into consideration before. I want to wrap your ribs and give you something to sleep. You shouldn't be moving around too much and, once you're not in shock, you won't want to be either."

She nodded. "Advice noted. Now what can you do to get me up?"

The doctor nodded, assenting to a decision he knew would be made with or without his help.

"I'm still going to wrap your ribs and your stomach. I can give you a shot, you know the one, that will help you through the pain for a few hours but keep you lucid. If you insist on going, you take Tory with you and you're going to let her help you and you're not going to stay long. No one, and I mean no one, is going to be helped by you collapsing. You know that's a possibility, right? That one time your body isn't going to obey your impossible demands?"

The former president gave a small hum before whispering, "Ok. Just do it."

Gods, Cottle thought as he turned to his bag to pull out the necessary supplies. He'd heard the exact same words from the exact same woman before. He almost laughed as he found himself wondering what sort of battle training they gave school teachers these days.

He addressed Tory. "Help me help her sit up and take off this sweater." On his command, each one took one of her arms and, as gently as possible, got her into a sitting position. Her sharp intake of air didn't surprise him but the fact that she didn't cry out did.

Once she'd recovered, Laura lifted her arms gingerly and the two accomplices lifted her sweater over them in a coordinated motion. This time, the patient couldn't hold back her yelp.

Cottle raised his eyebrows in alarm, quickly moving to look at her back. He found several deep abrasions, the congealed blood from which had stuck the fabric to the wounds, and another bruise, though this one not at large as its fatter twin on her abdomen.

Laura's eyes met the doctor's as he turned from the injuries to look at her face. "I made the mistake of turning over and giving him another target." She said this in a tone that made it sound like it was a reasonable explanation for the marks on her body.

The doctor was worried once more about internal damage. She moaned softly as he pressed his fingers around her kidneys, searching for signs of perforation. "I'm sorry, Laura," he whispered so only she could hear. He didn't mean to say it aloud but felt her body tense as he heard his own voice verbalize his next thought. "If Bill Adama saw this, he'd take out every living organism in all the planets."

The former president's voice was steely when she responded. "That's why, when he comes back to help us get out of this nightmare, he will never, ever know." Both Cottle and Tory understood from the tone in her voice that this was a direct order.

The doctor met her eyes and tried to convey an apology for bringing up the one subject, actually the one name, that could shake her resolve. He asked another question quickly, trying to clear the air. "Is there anything else I can't see? Anywhere else they hurt you?"

She responded, her voice still betraying her anger at his earlier comment. "No. Now, do what you need to do and hurry." Calming herself, she relented and smiled weakly, adding, "please."

Cottle took out a syringe and motioned for her to allow him access to her hip, figuring the least he could do was give her something for the pain before he started the uncomfortable process of tending to her injuries. She didn't react as the needle punctured her skin but he felt her relax slightly after a few moments, the strong medicine already taking effect.

She leaned her head on the older man's shoulder, making it more difficult to get the peroxide and cream out of his bag to tend to the cuts on her back. As he cleaned the angry gashes, caused by steel-toed boots he assumed, Laura tensed slightly at every touch but didn't make a sound, still resting her head on his shoulder.

Once that was done, he motioned for Tory to get the thick gauze he'd laid at his side and, once she did, indicated the spot under Laura's right breast where he wanted to start. With some difficulty, he and the aide wrapped her whole torso tightly.

After a few minutes, the task was done. Cottle secured the makeshift bandage with a pin and Laura moved her head from his shoulder, unprompted. She looked up, nodded her thanks to both of them, and issued another order. "Alright, Tory, get me something else to wear." She motioned in the direction of her small pile of belongings on the other side of the tent.

The aide rose and returned a moment later with another sweater. She smiled apologetically. "I know a button down would be better but…" Her former boss nodded absently as Tory's voice trailed off and raised her arms obediently for the old man and young woman to help her pull the offending item over her head.

Once she was dressed, Laura gave another hum before saying, resolutely, "Ok. Thank you, Doctor. I think you've been missing from your sick bay long enough." She turned to Tory, who was still looking at her with concern. "What time?"

Tory knew without asking for further clarification that she was asking how long until the meeting. Before she could respond, Laura held up her hand and spoke again, this time to the doctor.

"Jack, you don't need to hear this. The less you know, the better. I assume you understand that this," she moved her hand near her ribs, "must be kept quiet. I don't want to give them the satisfaction of creating more fear."

The doctor looked at the woman before him, her hair limp and dirty, mud on her neck from being tossed in the dirt. Even without the power suit and the title, he saw the same presidential resolve with which she'd faced cancer and the many crises that plagued the fleet during her term. He simply nodded and put the supplies back in his bag. He fixed Tory with a serious look.

"If she starts getting confused or weak, come get me immediately." He turned his glare toward the former president. "I'm still worried about internal bleeding, Laura. If you throw up any blood or if the pain gets unbearable, get to my tent. Don't give the Cylons the pleasure of killing you by being stubborn." His hesitated before leaning forward and kissing her lightly on the cheek. Before she could respond to the uncharacteristic gesture, he stood and made for the exit. Without turning he said, gruffly, "I'll be back to check on you tomorrow."

Once he was gone, Laura giggled before remembering how much any movement would hurt. She settled for a small smile at Tory instead. "He really is a teddy bear when you get down to it. Now, how long do we have?"

Tory chose her words carefully. "Well, ma'am, things have changed a bit in the last few days. There's now a curfew and they're rounding up anyone caught outside after 22:00. We're meeting at Anders' tent every time now, in the hole, but not as late. We have about an hour."

Laura nodded. "Ok. Has anything else changed?" She couldn't bear to ask directly if anyone had been killed while she was in detention.

"Well, the people are in quite an uproar. It turns out that the same people who didn't want you as president anymore don't like the idea of you being gone." When Laura gave her a pointed look, the aide continued. "Someone tried to kill Baltar. They put a bomb outside of Colonial One. Unfortunately, it didn't go off."

That made the former president smile. "Ah, Baltar's famous propensity for self preservation kicked in." This time, it was Tory who looked confused. Laura explained. "He came to see me today. Begged me to join him to publicly ask for an end to the suicide bombings. I said no, of course."

Anger flashed in Tory's dark eyes. "Motherfraker. He ordered them to do this to you when you refused?"

Laura paused, considering the idea, but shook her head. "No. Well, at least I don't think so. He told them to let me go. It was only after he left that one of the Doral models started kicking the shit out of me. I don't think it was on orders...I think it just wanted to hurt me." She shuddered at the memory of the muscled machine coming into the room with her clothes, shutting the door, and kicking her sharply in the stomach. She lay there for what seemed like hours, powerless to stop the blows, until Cavil and an Eight rushed in and pulled him away. The Eight, who she couldn't help but think of as Sharon even though it wasn't, helped her off the floor, out of the jumpsuit, and into her clothes. She'd waited for a long time, lapsing in and out of consciousness, before it came back to take her to the truck.

Tory watched as her former boss re-lived the nightmare in her head. She noticed the older woman was shivering and reached over to get the forgotten blue blanket. She placed it carefully around Laura's shoulders, breaking her out of her thoughts.

She looked at Tory gratefully and shook her head, willing herself to focus on the present.

"Thank you. Now, anything else that I missed?"

Tory looked down. "Well, a lot of the parents have stopped sending their kids to the school. After you were taken, some were too scared to come back. I think some other parents thought the school was safe because you were there and then…" she trailed off, not sure how to finish the thought.

Laura sighed. "I assumed as much. Well, tomorrow I'll go back and we'll see if we can't start rebuilding their trust. Again. If nothing else, me being there will get the news to the fleet that I'm out and alive before the first lesson is done." She was right - the apocalypse and a Cylon occupation had done nothing to slow the well oiled machine of the rumor mill.

Tory said nothing, thinking about how difficult it was going to be for Laura to be up and around and pretending everything was fine. She'd thought before how she was grateful that it had been Billy, not her, who had to watch as Laura hid the pain of her cancer from the fleet. Now, she thought resignedly, it was her turn to help the stubborn politician sacrifice her body for the needs of the people.

If Laura guessed her thoughts, she didn't mention it. Instead, she looked around the tent for the small bag that held what served as her toiletries. "Ok, I must look like hell. Would you mind getting my hairbrush and something to get some of this dirt off?" She waved her hand in the direction of the bag as Tory stood.

She returned, handing Laura a wet piece of cloth and moving behind her to start dealing with the tangled mess of red curls. The older woman looked up. "Oh, Tory, you don't have to do that."

Tory ignored her, pulling the brush through the locks and grimacing slightly as dried dirt fell to the floor. "I don't mind. You're going to have to let me help you for a few days but you can try not to give me too much hell about it." She hoped she'd succeeded in keeping her voice light.

Laura hummed softly in appreciation and started trying to get some of the mud off her face and neck. She looked down at her jeans and realized they were a casualty as well but decided against trying to change, imagining how much that process would hurt. She wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep but she knew how important it was to show up at the meeting, proving she was alive and unscathed. She found herself thinking she was grateful that the Doral hadn't done anything she couldn't hide.

Before she knew it, Tory had finished brushing out her long hair and pulled it into a neat braid that she fastened with a bit of string she kept around her wrist for her own hair. As she moved in front of Laura to look at her handiwork, she was struck by how different the leader looked without the auburn waves framing her face. Younger and softer, somehow. That, the aide decided, was better than dirty and frizzy.

"Pretty good, considering," she said with warmth. Laura smiled appreciatively but sighed as she realized it was time to stand.

"Ok, good. Now the fun part." Tory held out her arms, letting the former president use them for leverage as she slowly got to her feet. She didn't make a sound but clenched her eyes shut as she stood, almost all of her weight on Tory, and tried to steady her breathing. She opened them and gave a satisfied nod.

"Are you alright?" Tory was thinking, once again, that this was a bad idea but knew arguing about it was a waste of energy.

"Yes, I'm fine. Gods bless Cottle and his miracle shot." She let go of Tory and tried her steadiness by taking a few short steps to retrieve a long, dark green cloth from the chair. Pain ripped through her ribs and stomach with every step but, she was pleased to find, it was bearable. Her attempt to tie the scarf around her head, a process she'd begun after Anders had angrily reminded her that she was incredibly recognizable and could lead the Cylons to their meeting place if spotted, was harder. Tory heard Laura's short gasp as she lifted her arms and moved, wordlessly, to quickly finish the task.

Properly attired, Laura moved toward the flap of the tent and the younger woman was immediately at her side, ready to let the former president lean on her arm if she needed it. Laura gave her a gentle smile but shook her head. "No, we can't go together. This scarf does nothing if you're seen walking with someone because you're usually with me. I'll go first, around the back way, and you follow from the street."

Tory frowned, remembering Cottle's earlier order to remain by the president's side. Yet, she knew her boss was right. As usual. Annoyingly.

"You sure you'll be alright?" Laura nodded reassuringly and exited the tent before her aide could protest further. She made a right and set off down the dark, makeshift alley toward Anders' tent. Tory waited a minute before exiting as well, instead going left and making her way to the street.

Tory arrived first and slipped inside. Tyrol and Tigh were the only occupants and she assumed the others were already down in the hole. Both men looked up as she entered and moved toward them.

Tigh spoke roughly, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "I hear Ms. President is back. Is she alright?"

Tory shot Tyrol a look that he met with his own, telling her silently that he hadn't told Tigh that Laura was injured and how badly. She could, if she wanted, but he didn't want Tigh to be able to use the information to fire up the already angry and restless members of the rebellion.

"I'm fine," Laura said, as she closed the flap of the tent behind her and stepped into the space. All three turned to look at her. Tory looked relieved, Tyrol looked surprised, and Tigh looked angry, as usual.

Tigh looked at her with one eye as she made her way toward the rug that hid the entrance to the underground space, unfastening the scarf from her hair as she went. If he noticed she moved awkwardly, without her usual grace, he didn't comment. "Good. Being Queen seems to have some advantages." Tory glared daggers at him but he continued without noticing. "You're late. Let's get down there and get something done before those frakers start patrolling the streets."

Laura simply nodded and waited for Tyrol to move the rug and open the door. Tigh entered first and Tyrol nodded for Tory to follow. With a last concerned look at Laura, she started down the hatch and the president nodded at Tyrol meaningfully before disappearing below as well. Each step sent a jab of pain through her body and she stopped for a moment at the bottom one to collect herself before turning around.

As she did, someone gasped and Anders muttered, "oh, thank Gods." She smiled brightly, green eyes sparkling, as she took in the six resistance leaders before her.

"Hello, everyone. What did I miss?"


End file.
